Reclamation
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Magda remembers she's got children. Tiny hints of slash. Also some violence.


**Because I can't just let these characters be ****_happy_****, can I? Enjoy.  
Disclaimer: Nothing but the poor attempt at a plot is mine.**

It was a sign of how well Vlad had progressed with his training that nobody questioned his orders as he strode into the throne room of Garside Grange that sunset.  
"Ingrid, take Wolfie and go and play in the Blood Cellar. Dad, give her the keys and _stay here_. Bertrand, I want you outside the cellar door and Renfield... go with Ingrid and bring back a bottle of Duchess. _Any_ Duchess." Well, alright, there were a few curious looks cast his way, but Wolfie gathered up his teddy and allowed Ingrid to shepherd him out of the room, followed by Renfield and a determined-looking Bertrand.

"What's the occasion, Vladdy?" His father, of course, could always be relied on to buck the trend. "Finally indulging your true vampiric side?"  
He scowled. "No. It just seems the done thing to offer Mum a drink. She'll be arriving any minute." The Count leapt to his feet, smoothing his hair before draping himself back across his throne in what he obviously hoped was a casually elegant pose.  
"What's that harpy doing here? Did you invite her?"  
"No, and I've got no idea, but since Patrick is standing outside the gates waiting for someone, I expect she'll be arriving the moment darkness falls." Like a flash, his father was at the window, peering curiously down at his ex's partner.  
"Hmm, is that him? I thought he'd be taller. And hairier." The sun sank behind the horizon as he spoke and within minutes, Magda was landing neatly at the werewolf's side and the pair were making their way forward.

Renfield returned with the blood and was immediately dispatched to show their guests up. When they arrived, the Count attempted to look surprised, but Vlad was in no mood to play games.  
"Mum, Patrick. Can't say it's a pleasant surprise. What do you want?"  
Magda batted her eyelashes, smiling sweetly. "So business-like, my darling boy. We just came to see how you were. More specifically, we came to collect Wolfie."

Vlad saw the Count stiffen out of the corner of his eye. He raised an eyebrow.  
"Finally remembered you've got a kid, did you?"  
"Now, Vlad, _darling_. Is that any way to speak to your mother? Come, let's all have a nice chat."  
The Chosen One didn't take his eyes off his mother as she took a seat and continued to smile at him. He didn't trust her. Still, if they talked perhaps he could work out what she wanted with Wolfie.  
"You're not taking the little mongrel," the Count declared, "he's in charge of guarding our blood in exchange for bed and board. We've had him for months, we're not even yet."  
Magda took this in her stride. "Well, if you've grown fond of the boy I'm sure we can negotiate."

While the Count was protesting that he had no interest in the brat, Patrick turned to Vlad, looking a little sheepish.  
"D'you mind if I use your loo?" Vlad waved a hand dismissively, still watching his parents argue.  
"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Downstairs, on your-" Patrick was gone before he could finish the sentence, clearly in a hurry, and Vlad wondered just how suddenly his mother had dragged him along on this little adventure.

"I've only kept him _this _long because he keeps Ingrid out of my hair." They all ignored the sound of barking downstairs as Magda snapped out a response, and then Vlad heard a chillingly firm voice inside his head.  
_Stay exactly where you are, or you may be in danger._

* * *

Outside the Blood Cellar, Bertrand was growing restless. He could tell, by the scents on the air, that Ingrid had opened a bottle for herself, and he was suddenly aware of his own hunger. There was a bark from inside and he realised it was the night of the full moon. How careless of him to have forgotten that. Suddenly, there was a scratching at the cellar door as the one at the end of the corridor swung open. He expected to see Renfield, perhaps, or Vlad – maybe even the Count, coming to check that Ingrid hadn't done exactly what she _was_ doing. He hadn't expected to see a huge wolf framed in the candlelight.

_Stay exactly where you are, or you may be in danger,_ he told Vlad. The Chosen One would be safer upstairs than if he ventured down to investigate this beast. He cast an analytical eye over the creature and determined that it was not a true wolf, but a werewolf. And it was coming towards him, gathering speed. He didn't have his sword to hand; only the parade stick he sometimes carried. It would have to do. The wolf launched itself at his chest, forcing him to stumble backwards, and then hurled itself at the cellar door. He wasn't going to let it pass. He raised the stick and struck; the beast turned on him as inside the cellar, Wolfie began to bark again.

* * *

Ingrid patted her little brother's head as he began barking at the door. She wasn't sure what had just hit it, but it didn't do it again, so she focused on soothing Wolfie. Fortunately, he soon tired of barking and curled up with his teddy, tail thumping against the stone floor. She took another sip of the Baron she'd cracked open; this was the life.

Now Wolfie was quieter, though, she could hear the sounds of a scuffle outside. Was Bertrand training Vlad out there or something? If so, why had he sent them away? She shrugged and took another sip. There was nothing she could do about it for now; Renfield, like the idiot he was, had taken the keys with him when he left. Oh dear, such a shame – locked in a room with all this delicious blood and nobody to stop her drinking it.

* * *

Magda smiled to herself as she looked out at the night sky.  
"You really should make more of a feature of this window, _darling._" It wasn't really clear which of the two Dracula men she was addressing. "It has such a lovely view of the moon."  
Vlad rolled his eyes. "Not that the small talk isn't fun, Mum, but we were trying to discuss Wolfie, remember?" She laughed and he wondered what he'd missed. Bertrand hadn't given him any more information on whatever threat he'd decided to stress out over tonight, so he assumed it was either unimportant, dealt with, or both.  
"Of course. Well, I understand that you children will miss your little brother, but his place is with me and Patrick. You've kept him quite long enough."  
"You didn't exactly give us a _choice._" The Count piped up from the throne.  
"- And now I am, so that works out just perfectly for everyone, doesn't it, bun-buns?"

_Tell your mother... to keep her pet... under control!_ Bertrand's thoughts seemed less controlled than usual. _And if she doesn't call him off soon, Ingrid might be in danger._ Vlad's head snapped up, eyes darkening to pure black as he put all the pieces together.  
"_Patrick_. Dad, bring Mum downstairs." And then he was gone.

He arrived in the cellars to find Patrick hurling himself at the door, all his wolfish weight hitting the door with a resounding thud.  
"Ingrid, are you alright in there?" The wolf turned to face him as Ingrid called back.  
"A little confused; what's going on?" Patrick pounced, and Vlad simply pinned him to the ceiling with a flick of his wrist, turning to see his father escorting Magda downstairs as if they were going to a ball. She looked supremely unperturbed by the scene they came upon.

Vlad didn't give her chance to speak.  
"Take your _dog_ and go. I knew you were low, but I didn't think you'd stoop to this. I don't _ever_ want to see you here again, or I _will_ make sure you regret it." His eyes were still black; he wasn't bluffing. The wolf dropped to the floor, whimpering as he hit the ground hard.  
"Of course. If you'll just unlock the door I'll take them both with me immedi-"  
"Wolfie's staying with us. Do you really think we'd let you take him after all you put me and Ingrid through? And then tonight you risked her unlife to get what you wanted. Leave now, or leave in a dustpan." The dangerous tone in his voice seemed to get through to her, and she gestured to Patrick the wolf, who trotted off at her heels.  
"Follow them and make sure they leave," Vlad told his father, unlocking the cellar door to let Ingrid out. "Ingrid, Mum was here, seemed to think we were going to give her Wolfie. Could you take him up and tuck him in for me?" She frowned.  
"It's your turn."  
"Please, Ingrid. I need to check on security down here."  
Her eyes suddenly widened in understanding. "Oh, fine, but you owe me. Come on Wolfie. Tell _security _he's braver than I thought he was."

As she left, Vlad realised he'd overlooked something important, something his sister had obviously remembered. _Bertrand._

* * *

He found his tutor slumped against a wall at the end of the corridor, unconscious. His shirt was hanging off him in tatters and there were deep gouge-marks in the skin underneath. He looked for all the world like a broken ragdoll, tossed aside and left in the dark. Just glancing at the bruises and the way he'd landed, Vlad thought he probably had a broken arm, at the very least, and possibly a cracked rib. He wouldn't be taking any intensive training sessions any time soon, that was for sure.

Vlad leant forward and ran his fingers through Bertrand's curly hair, searching for head injuries. He had a lump where his head had struck the wall that was probably going to sting for a while, but that seemed to be all. The Chosen One glanced along the corridor, checking that nobody was looking, then repeated the motion, avoiding the tender spot.  
"Bertrand? Can you hear me?"

It was a couple of minutes before the older vampire stirred, blinking in confusion.  
"Vlad?" His student was staring down at the remains of his shirt, at the shattered parade stick on the ground a few feet away, anywhere but at his tutor's face. "Is everyone alright?" That did bring Vlad's gaze round to meet his.  
"Yeah. Thanks to you." His hand was still buried in Bertrand's hair, thumb gently stroking. "You took on a fully-grown werewolf with a stick?"  
"I'm sorry, I should have been prepared, I should have had my sword..." He was mumbling.  
Vlad shook his head. "That's not what I meant, Bertrand. My family owes you a debt." He suddenly realised what he was doing and withdrew his hand. "Well, you don't seem to have any head injuries except the obvious," he tried to cover lamely.  
"Please don't stop." He knew his tutor was concussed, didn't know what he was saying, but... he leant in and kissed him gently on the forehead before he could chicken out, then slid an arm around the older vampire's shoulder to help him to his feet, the wounded man wincing at the movement.  
"Come on. Let's get you to Renfield."


End file.
